Fallen Heir

by Erin Watt

  “Bullshit. I know she’s here,” Steve snaps. “Get out of my way, Callum. She’s my daughter and I need to speak to her.”

  Hartley taps me on my shoulder. “I should probably leave,” she murmurs.

  Her discomfort at hearing this matches mine, only for different reasons. She thinks I’m embarrassed, but I’m worried about Ella. “No. Stay here,” I whisper.

  “What you need to do is stay far away from her,” Dad snaps back. “The only reason we haven’t filed a restraining order against you is because we didn’t think you were stupid enough to show up here.”

  “You’re the one who opened the gate,” Steve says snidely.

  I inch the door forward, and Dad and Steve’s voices immediately get louder. I’m perplexed why Dad would let Steve in. Hopefully, Ella is far away and doesn’t know her dad’s here.

  I grab my phone from my pocket and text Reed.

  Steve’s here

  I kno. Ella texted me

  Damn.

  Where r u? Reed asks

  In the sitting rm. Where’s Ella?

  Top of stairs

  “Shit,” I mutter.

  Hartley comes up beside me. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ella’s bio dad is out there causing problems.” I jerk my thumb toward the foyer, where the argument’s still going strong.

  “What choice did I have?” Dad says. “You were waking up the entire neighborhood, parked out there and laying on your horn like a maniac. You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Steve mocks.

  “Because Ella’s already been through enough. The last thing that girl needs is to see her father once again carted away in handcuffs. But I mean it, Steve. You’re not to come near her. You’re no longer her guardian—I am. The court—”

  “Screw the court!”

  Hartley flinches. I lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  “She’s my daughter, Callum. And I don’t know what horseshit your lawyers have been feeding you, but Ella is going to be a witness for the defense, not the prosecution. My daughter is not going to testify against me.”

  Hartley gasps and then slaps a hand over her mouth.

  I bring my lips close to her ear. “And you think you’ve got skeletons in your closet, huh? Trust me, no secrets you have are dirtier than the ones we Royals have.”

  “You Royals always have to be the best at everything,” she jokes weakly. Her face is pale and her eyes are wide.

  “Welcome to my life.” I take her hand and grip it tightly in mine. She squeezes back.

  Out in the hall, the two dads are still arguing. In here, we’re comforting each other.

  “You’re no longer part of this family,” Dad says coldly. “You’re not Ella’s father. You’re not my boys’ godfather. You’re not my friend or my business partner. The next time we see each other, it will be in court, when your daughter testifies against you.”

  “We’ll see about that,” Steve retorts.

  The front doors slam. I wait until Dad’s footsteps no longer echo against the marble floor before I peek out into the hall. It’s empty. “Come on,” I tell Hartley, pulling her behind me.

  “Where’re we going?”

  “To find Ella.”

  Hartley shakes her head. “You go. I feel weird talking to her about this.”

  “She won’t mind—”

  “It’s none of my business,” Hartley says firmly. “Besides, I really do have to go. I’ve got homework to finish up for tomorrow. I came straight here after work.”

  I grab her hand before she passes through the doorway. “Wait.” My forehead creases. “I want to know more about your sister and what’s going on with your family. Will you tell me more about it tomorrow? Maybe at lunch?” When she stays silent, I swallow my disappointment. “Or you can keep holding back on me, I guess.”

  Her cheeks take on a pink blush. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I do hold back. It’s not on purpose, though. I’ve never really liked talking about myself. Even before boarding school, I was kind of a loner. I mean, I’ve had boyfriends—”

  “Names and addresses,” I order. “I need to know who I’m beating up.”

  That gets me a snicker. “Oh, relax. They’re ancient history. But, yeah, aside from them, I haven’t confided in a lot of people. I don’t think I’m too good at it.”

  “Obvs.”

  Hartley smiles faintly. “I’m young—still learning and growing and all that crap, right?” She shrugs. “I’m going to try to be a better friend. That’s basically what I came here to say.”

  She holds out her hand for a shake, and my first instinct is to bypass that and go straight for a hug. Then I realize that I need to meet her gesture of friendship with one of my own.

  I take her hand in mine. I probably hold it longer than friends normally do, but I’m young, too. Still learning and growing and all that crap.

  It feels right to be doing that with someone holding my hand, though. Especially with her gift wrapped around my wrist.

  Chapter 23

  I’m dragging my feet at practice the next morning. Not because I’m hungover, but because I stayed up late last night watching movies with Ella. She was upset about Steve showing up at the house, so I tried to distract her. But now I’m operating on about four hours of sleep. Coach tells me that if I don’t fucking wake up he’s gonna make me do fucking suicides until I’m fucking puking all over the fucking turf.

  Coach Lewis has a bit of the potty mouth.

  I chug some Gatorade hoping it’ll give me a boost of energy. It doesn’t, but Coach doesn’t pay much attention to me for the rest of practice. He’s too busy talking to Bran about a couple of new plays we’ll be running on Friday.

  The school day flies by, and before I know it, it’s last period. The first thing I notice when I walk into the classroom is that Ms. Mann isn’t at her desk. A substitute sits there instead. Normally I’d be psyched about that. A sub means I could talk to Ella and Hartley and do absolutely nothing productive without the fear of consequences. But I’m too damn tired for that.

  I heave myself into my chair and sigh loudly.

  “Well, aren’t we chipper,” Ella says with a wry smile.

  “I’m too sleepy,” I grumble. “I went to bed at two and woke up at five thirty.”

  “Me too,” Ella chirps. She gets up at the crack of dawn to work at a bakery called the French Twist. “And I’m doing just fine.”

  “Goodie for you,” I mutter.

  She smirks. “Nice accessory, by the way.”

  I lift my wrist to show off the leather band. “This thing? Got it from my bestie.” I nudge Hartley, who gives a little embarrassed laugh.

  “Where were you at lunch?” she asks.

  “Team meeting. We’ve got a lot of new plays to learn and review before Friday. Coach is riding us hard.”

  She opens her mouth to respond, but the substitute teacher cuts her off.

  “Easton Royal?” he calls, searching the classroom from behind his black-rimmed hipster glasses. He’s holding the iPad that every teacher at the school carries around; the tablet is their main form of communication.

  I raise a hand and point to my chest. “That’s me, Teach. What’s up?”

  “You’re wanted in the headmaster’s office. Please gather your things and report to the main office without delay.”

  “Uh-oh,” Hartley murmurs from beside me.

  Ella, meanwhile, wears a resigned expression. “What have you done now, East?”

  Resentment burns a path up my throat. Everyone in my life has such a low-ass opinion of me. They always think I’ve done something wrong, even when I haven’t.

  Unfortunately, Ella had every right to ask, because apparently I did do something.

  Or, rather, I did someone.

  When I enter the headmaster’s office five minutes later, the first person I see is Ms. Mann.

  Beringer is behind his desk, and my father is in the second visi
tors’ chair opposite Ms. Mann.

  Shit.

  “Have a seat, Easton,” Beringer orders in a voice that brooks no argument.

  There’s a deadly glint in his beady eyes that I’ve never seen before. Normally he wears a defeated expression, like a death row inmate who’s finally accepted that he’s getting the chair. Beringer knows he doesn’t have any control over the school—the gazillionaire parents who sign his paychecks do. But this morning, judging by his expression, it’s like he’s got some actual influence over something.

  Over me?

  My gaze slides to Ms. Mann. No, she’s the one he has power over. My dad will get me out of whatever this is—and I have a good feeling I know why we’re all here—but Beringer is the furthest thing from powerless right now. He’s the one holding the axe at the guillotine, and it’s Ms. Mann’s head on the chopping block.

  “What’s this all about?” I demand. To Beringer, I flash an annoyed look. To my dad, an aggrieved one. I’m a good liar when I need to be.

  “Yes,” my father says, “what’s this about, Francois?”

  I love that my dad pulls out the first name power play.

  Beringer wrings his hands together on the shiny mahogany desktop. “Some very serious allegations have been brought to my attention. Allegations that I’m afraid I simply cannot ignore…” He trails off ominously, like some lame-ass detective in a cop show. All he needs is the menacing music. Du-dum-dum.

  “Just spit it out,” Dad snaps, also irritated by the theatrics. “I was called out of a board meeting for this.” He spares a quick glance at Ms. Mann. “You’re my son’s calculus teacher?”

  She nods weakly. If she grows any paler, she’s gonna look like a piece of notebook paper.

  “So what kind of trouble did my son cause in your class?” Dad asks her. “Cheating? Did he get ahold of test answers and sell them to his classmates?” He’s listing transgressions I’d actually committed in the past.

  “No, Callum. The situation is far more dire than that,” Beringer says grimly.

  That’s when it clicks for my dad. Concern fills his face as he studies Ms. Mann again, as if he’s seeing her for the first time now. Her beautiful features, her youth.

  Visible disappointment clouds his eyes as he glances over at me.

  “Thanks to an anonymous source, it’s come to the school’s attention that your son and Ms. Mann might have been engaging in inappropriate…” He pauses tactfully “…relations.”

  Ms. Mann releases a sound of distress. Her gaze locks with mine, just briefly, and I know we’re both thinking about the pact we made in her classroom the other day. Deny, deny, deny.

  I’m the first one to follow the plan. “That’s bullshit!” I stare at Beringer with pure astonishment, as if a teenage boy hooking up with his hot teacher is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. “I never touched her.”

  Beringer looks startled by my denial. What, did he think I’d own up to it? Moron.

  “I see,” he says. He pauses, then addresses Ms. Mann. “And what do you have to say about this, Caroline?”

  Her name’s Caroline? I had no idea.

  “What do I have to say?” she repeats, and damn, I’m impressed by her calm, even tone. “What I have to say, Francois, is that I’m shocked and disgusted and, frankly, insulted that you would bring me into this office and accuse me of fraternizing with a student.”

  “Is that a denial?” the headmaster asks.

  “Of course it’s a denial!”

  I hide a smile. Forget math—she should be teaching drama.

  “It’s one hundred percent a denial,” I chime in, matching her level of outrage. “I’d never hook up with some old lady—” I quickly look over and say, “No offense.”

  “None taken,” she says tightly.

  “Trust me, I get plenty of action from girls my own age.”

  There’s a short silence.

  Dad studies Ms. Mann again. “How old are you, Caroline?” he inquires.

  “I’m twenty-four, sir.”

  Dad turns toward Beringer. “Easton is eighteen. Even if something untoward did happen, there’s no crime here.”

  “You’re right, this isn’t a criminal concern. Unfortunately, it’s an ethical one. If this is true—”

  “It’s not,” Ms. Mann and I say. Angrily, and in unison.

  We’re putting on the performance of a lifetime. I’m tempted to high-five her.

  “Actually,” I say as an afterthought, “I’d really like to know who made these allegations, because that’s the person you should be talking to.” I raise my eyebrows at Beringer. “You know, for spreading lies and trying to hurt the reputation of an Astor Park faculty member.”

  I gesture toward Ms. Mann in a dramatic fashion. I’m starting to really get into this.

  “Ms. Mann is an awesome teacher,” I declare. “She actually makes math fun, if you can believe it. You know how hard it is to capture my attention—”

  Dad snorts softly.

  “But she’s able to engage me in the classroom, so much that I actually look forward to going to Calc every day.” When Beringer’s eyes narrow, I quickly hold up my hand. “To learn, sir. And nothing more.”

  “There,” my father says briskly. “I believe my son and this young woman have both said their piece. Other than this anonymous informant of yours, what other evidence do you possess that suggests they’re involved in an inappropriate relationship?”

  The headmaster hesitates. Then his shoulders sag, just slightly. He has no evidence, and we all know it.

  “Eyewitnesses?” Dad prompts. “Anyone who can swear to seeing them together?”

  Beringer shakes his head. “No, we have only the word of the student—”

  Student?

  That gets my attention. What asshole ratted me out to Beringer?

  It wouldn’t have been Ella or Val. Not Hartley or any of my teammates. One of the guys might’ve blabbed to someone, though. And that someone could’ve told Beringer.

  So. Who’s cruel enough to want to get Ms. Mann fired, and catty enough to try to get me in trouble…

  Uh-huh. I have a good idea about who that could be.

  Luckily, this stupid little meeting breaks up not long after Beringer admits to his lack of evidence. Before he dismisses us, however, he lets it be known that he’s keeping an eye on the situation. Ms. Mann huffs and makes suitably angry and affronted noises, demanding to speak to him in private.

  Dad and I leave the office without a word. He places a hand on my shoulder and we both nod pleasantly at Beringer’s secretary. Only when we’re in the lobby and out of earshot of anyone, Dad curses under his breath.

  “Jesus, Easton. A teacher?”

  I blink innocently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Contrary to what you may believe, you are not that good a liar, son.” He shakes his head in frustration. “At least assure me that it’s over?”

  “What’s over?”

  “Easton.” He draws a calming breath. “All right. You know what? Don’t say a word. Just nod if this irresponsible insanity is no longer going on.”

  I don’t play dumb this time. I jerk my head in a quick nod.

  Dad looks relieved. “Good. Make sure it stays that way.” After a quick goodbye, he strides out the front doors.

  Through the glass windows of the lobby, I watch him descend the steps and duck into the waiting Town Car out front. His driver, Durand, closes the back door and hops into the driver’s seat. The Town Car speeds off, probably to whisk Callum Royal away to Atlantic Aviation’s corporate headquarters.

  The click of heels on the polished floor has me turning around. I scowl when I see who it is.

  “Is everything okay?” Felicity asks, and there’s no mistaking the note of glee in her voice. “I heard you were called into Beringer’s office. And someone told me one of your teachers was summoned, too. What a coincidence!”

  “Drop the act,” I order in a low voice.
“I know you were behind it.”

  “Behind what?”

  I ignore her batting eyelashes. “That woman could’ve lost her job, Felicity.”

  She is totally unruffled. Indifferent, actually, as she rolls her eyes at me. “Hey, she made her own bed. She fooled around with a student and now she gets to be held accountable for her actions.”

  It’s exactly the same thought I’d had not so long ago. Now, I can’t stop thinking about the fear in Ms. Mann’s eyes when she’d faced the possibility of losing her job. My stupid, horny actions almost ruined that woman’s career, and I feel sick about it.

  I meet Felicity’s victorious expression. She seems to be enjoying herself.

  “Congratulations, you got back at me for ruining your party on Friday night,” I say through gritted teeth. “Can we call a truce now?”

  “Oh, sweetie. A truce?” She laughs loudly, a peal of sound that echoes in the huge, empty lobby. “Sorry, but the war’s just begun.”

  Chapter 24

  To my surprise, I find Hartley lingering by my locker, a worried expression on her face. “Is everything okay?” she asks, clutching her math book to her chest.

  “All good.” I throw my stuff in the locker and take her arm. “Want to grab something to eat?”

  I expect her to say no, but she follows me without argument.

  “Easton, what happened?” Ella accosts me when we exit the main building. “Someone said they saw Callum on campus.”

  “I’ll tell you later. Hartley and I have somewhere to be.” I tug on Hartley’s arm. “Come on.”

  We climb into my truck. Hartley doesn’t say a word. I’m afraid of telling her what happened in the headmaster’s office. She’ll hate me.

  But my mouth, which has never had a good barrier, opens and starts spilling.

  “Someone found out about Ms. Mann and me and told Beringer.”

  Hartley winces. “Oh no.”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “I never once bragged about this.”

  “I didn’t think you would. But how could it have gotten out? I was the only one who opened the door.” She goes quiet for a moment, as if she’s thinking back to that day. “I guess there were other people in the hall that could’ve seen something, but why wait until now?”